


Sweetness Follows

by Sh_Wat



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Romance, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh_Wat/pseuds/Sh_Wat
Summary: Your life is fineIt's sweet and sourUnbearable or greatYou gotta love every hourYou must appreciate (с)AU where Oswald and Victor are Falcone's favorite assassin duo, and Jim is a security guard who trains in shooting range that assassins opened for a cover.Spoiler - it's more fluffy than it sounds.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Sweetness Follows

**Author's Note:**

> It's more of a straightforward lovestory than i thought. Maybe some cliches will appear.  
> Zsasz and Alvares provide comedic romantic parallel, for example.  
> Also, Jim and Oswald change the source incident of Batman mythology.  
> Sex scene is chaotic, but with feeling. Jim receives (c)  
> English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes.

It was not a simple gun range, cemented basement with a shooting distance of 10 meters and without proper soundproofing and ventilation system. After all, Oswald had his standards, and through this place was supposed to work as a cover for real source of their income, it didn’t mean it must look shabby and unassuming.

Victor agreed. If he would be in charge, their shooting range would turn into most fancy, expensive and dangerous underground venue in the city. He wanted rare firearms trades and invite system for people from their circle. Oswald still wondered why he agreed in the end that attracting too much attention to their success would turn other ‘mercenaries’ in their city against them and only bring more trouble. Maybe Falcone reasoned with him - Victor had strange, almost spiritual respect for this man. Oswald was of a different opinion – mainly because Falcone let his rogue favorite, Fish Mooney, to mangle his leg and try kill him, before stepping in. Oswald were tasked, as usual, with gathering information on her betrayal, but Falcone wanted solid proof she’s afraid enough of exposing. He got it, and she was banished with a promise to return, and Oswald stayed with a limp and newfound wariness.

After his mother died, Oswald lost the desire to build respected official career. There were better, albeit messier, ways to make good money. He could be very, very deadly with a knife or a gun, very creative even, Victor was impressed sometimes with what he did to people in cellophane covered chambers – but he had too weak physics to put up a good fight, unlike Fish and almost all other cops and gagsters. Good thing Victor felt enough of a friendly recognition to him to stick around.

The shooting range was just outside the city, field and auxiliary one story building. 300 feet to place few different sets of targets. They hired people outside criminal net to do management and security, but Oswald knew that common people and their tricks too well and took main paperwork in his hands. He wasn’t going to let anybody rob him and snigger at this behind his back. Victor said he would solve any problems easily and without traces, but Oswald wasn’t this far from reality yet, and sometimes he thought that Falcone wasn’t really interested in his wellbeing all that much. Oswald worked on it, bit by bit got closer to the day he wouldn’t be at mercy of powerful criminal patriarch anymore, but that day was in the future still.

In the present he spend days on range territory, evening hours in interrogation quarters of Falcone’s mansion or all the seedy clubs this city has to offer. He got used to notice people and remember their basic qualities, especially in the cases it would be useful, but there were not a lot of noteworthy people among his shooting range clients. But oh, there were some.

His name was James Gordon, and Oswald wouldn’t say they get along, since they didn’t really talk, but there was this silent, soft tranquility every time they got close. Oswald never did it with other shooters on their range, because it wasn’t his job here, but he wanted to help Jim, to straighten his posture, to hold his hand steady. Jim was a good shot, but he got tired quickly, his hand trembled slightly, and sweat stood out on his forehead. And yet he stayed late, trying to be in a shooting condition longest time possible. Oswald suspected it was an aftermath of injury, but couldn’t bring himself to ask, to recommend good manual therapist he knew. Jim didn’t strike him as a type for sharing his concerns with strangers. Not so much closed-off or cold, he was more… quiet and wearied out. Oswald didn’t want to disrupt their harmonious atmosphere. Maybe Jim would think that Oswald merely pitied him, and nothing enrages quite like pity. Oswald knew it acutely after what happened with his leg.

**

Early hours of that cold Sunday morning felt almost like in a dream. Oswald felt elated and giddy and not fully in control. It often happened with him after interrogation job was done and initial heady rush stayed a little longer. That’s why he preferred to walk it out despite his leg.

He stopped in his tracks like being struck the second he saw a familiar figure. He recognized Jim before he was even aware of that.

Jim stood there, right next to his door, in black coat but with uncovered head. Wind ruffled his dark blond hair a little, when he turned to Oswald. In the pale light of morning his deep blue eyes looked even more striking. He looked so breathtaking that Oswald forgot for a solid second what he’s been doing a mere hours ago. And then the awareness came back heavy like a stone.

\- Good morning, – Oswald blurted out and hurried to smile. Maybe too wide, but he couldn’t fully control it now. He washed his hands and face, like usual, and didn’t see any copper red strains of blood on his clothes, but that was not what bothered him.

Jim nodded, smiling.

\- Oswald, right? – he shook Oswald’s hand (strong, bare fingers), and Oswald nodded too, slightly dazed, still not on the ground.

\- James, am I correct? – he shuddered inwardly over his awkward laughter, but Jim smiled - this slow smile again, so mesmerizing Oswald couldn’t tear his eyes away. His lips looked warm. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to feel them on his own – Oswald grinded nails into palm of his left hand. It was bloody unfortunate, that he met Jim right now in this scattered mind condition.

\- Are you waiting for somebody? – Oswald asked in a little higher tone than usual, regarding the façade to escape careless thoughts about Jim and the way he was almost pulled by invisible string to step closer. He couldn’t even imagine who Jim would visit here.

Jim turned away, observing the other side of the street.

\- I guess you could say that, - he looked at Oswald again, and Oswald wished with all his might he could just end this nerve-wracking meeting and go home, try to relax, to rest his body and mind, but he couldn’t, he really couldn’t – until Jim decide it’s over. They couldn’t show anyone where’s their main apartment were, sure, but the real, personal, hidden reason was that he didn't want to leave Jim's company.

\- There he is, - Jim said, waving a hand at man with brown fedora and untidy appearance, who stepped out of entrance and were enthusiastically waving in return.

Harvey Bullock, GCPD. Oswald held a breath. There was no reason to doubt Bullock knew about him, but he wasn’t exactly important enough to get an audience by Falcone, so maybe he didn’t knew him in the face. But Jim wasn’t from law enforcement, otherwise he would know already. Informant, then?

\- Work friend? – Oswald asked, trying to calm down at least a little and watch Jim closely. It wasn’t easy, to clear his head like that, but he still was a professional.

\- No, - Jim answered easy, without pause, glancing at Oswald again. No tension in his eyes. – Just friend.

Jim was going to say goodbye, and he looked even slightly apologetic, that their meeting ended so abruptly, and it was too charming, too simple. While Jim was just a shooter on their range, it was easy, they were no one to each other, and strictly speaking they still were, but Oswald now could imagine this clean cut face change too good and in great detail. If he only knew who he’s talking to, if he ever would be unlucky enough to know. Fear, maybe anger. Then Oswald remembered his hand, the fact that it wasn’t easy for him to shoot and that it would be an advantage – and was disgusted of himself with rare intensity.

\- I must go, – Jim said, turning towards Bullock already.

\- Hope to see you soon, - Oswald said, watching him go and still unable to look away. – In the range, I mean. – He didn’t, but it was the only safe place and safe state of their relationship.

Jim smiled, distracted, but sincere. Little smile, quick, and Oswald was glad he caught it.

\- See you then, – he said, and turned away completely.

Please, let it be only on a shooting range, Oswald thought, watching him hug Bullock and stride away. Judging by cop’s face, he really didn’t know how Oswald looked like.

But maybe it was for the worse.

**

\- We do not trade weapons, – Oswald said coldly. It was first rule he put into books personally, Victor always were too nonchalant about this. He stubbornly refused to comprehend meaning of the word ‘cover’.

\- Come on, just point me in the right direction, - Alvarez asked, folding his arms. – You must know somebody.

\- You have to take care of this yourself, - Oswald added rigidly and stood. He sometimes hated that he was the one saddled with paperwork because it was always him people pestered about themes like that, refusing to bend to simple rules he written down. Everybody thought they were a precious exception, and there were days Oswald was really tired of it.

Maybe he was more on edge than usual because Alvarez was a cop – not important therefore never saw him or Victor in action, but it didn’t mean GCPD was blind. Maybe they knew something and were trying now to catch them on something so stupid as illegal firearm deals.

He opened the door for Alvarez, not bothering to be subtle. On the other side stood Victor and Jim – the former with feigned boredom inspected state of his nails, the latter looked startled, with arm risen for knocking.

Oswald momentarily forgot about his annoyance.

\- Jim! Come right in, – he shut the door on Victor’s suspicious expression, and came back behind his table, gesturing on the chair. - What can I do for you?

He didn’t like this feeling he got when Jim looked down, tilting head to the side. He was upset, and it suddenly bothered Oswald more even then the words he already knew he would hear.

\- I think… I think the idea of shooting on range has exhausted itself, – he said, and looked up. Oswald knew his face displayed his frustration in full array, but he didn’t care, frantically trying to come up with something to talk him into staying.

It concerned him, how fast he was ready to press even in this.

\- Is it your shoulder injury? – he asked, and made himself look into Jim’s face. He expected indignation - emotional upheaval always was better to steer. But Jim was just more saddened.

\- Well, yes. Doctor said I shouldn’t put even more strain on it, – he shrugged, tried to smile. – Turned out, I don’t always know better.

\- You work in security, right? – Oswald hastened to check his file, and yes, it was what he wrote down there. Just ‘security company’ though.

Jim nodded. He was in no hurry to get up. Maybe too deep in thinking about his failure.

\- You could learn to use your good hand more, – he said. Being left-handed, he knew that re-learning may be very hard, but it was important for Jim, so he surely wouldn’t stop.

\- I need both hands, – Jim answered, gruff and bitter. Then sighed and said quietly: - Sorry. Raw nerve, I guess.

Knocking on the door made them both jump. Victor peeked inside, not bothering to wait for an answer.

\- Aye, Oz, - he said, waving the hand with the phone. – Our friends called, they are waiting for us earlier than was planned.

Oswald grinded his teeth. It must have been Don Falcone. It was useful – information he obtained and offered. Any other day he would be happy. But right now it was a nuisance. It almost brought guilt.

\- I’m better going, – Jim said, standing up. Oswald was on his legs already.

\- Victor, could you wait for a moment - 

\- I’ll give you plenty of time to kiss him good proper goodbye while I close our merry establishment, – door was shot before Oswald could react. He felt how pale he went from anger. Victor rarely allowed himself to talk with him like that, and he didn’t even know at the moment how to retaliate.

Jim stood before him, slightly confused, and looked at him with amused, slightly exasperated, disarmingly lovely expression.

It was more than Oswald could handle. He ripped a sheet out of his notebook and scribbled address of his favorite physician – dirty, with strains of ink, but he couldn’t put less pressure and if he decided to rewrite, he would just throw hands in the end.

\- Gonna have fun tonight? – Jim asked above him, and he hasn’t even said something that could be considered double entendre, but Oswald shivered anyway. Far from traditional definition of “fun”, and farther from fun he would rather be having with Jim, if he was different man or simply had courage.

\- Something like it. Here, in case you would want a different form of injury treatment, – he said, straightening up and handing Jim the piece of paper. Ink smudged his own hand and would undoubtedly stain Jim’s fingers. Oswald heaved a sigh, but there was no chance of redoing.

\- Thank you, - Jim answered, that deep, soft rumble. Why were his nerves so frayed, why he caught everything Jim’s done so thoughtfully – it was not in the least convenient.

\- See you later then, - Jim added, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. - You seem to work so much. It would be good for you to give yourself a break.

Sure it would be, but you don’t make it easier, Oswald thought ironically.

\- Hope to see you soon, - he replied instead, placing his hand on the table behind him to steady himself while watching Jim go.

**

Oswald returned from strategic visit to underground club in the dead of night, in his mind he still catalogued information he received. Still harmless group of misfits, but if someone would bother to organize them, could be bad for established business.

Victor waited for him on the staircase, winch was alarming enough in itself.

\- You would make too much fuss about it, if saw it for yourself, - he said, trying the sharpness of his knife with his little finger – I have a visitor tonight, so it would be nice if you sleep on the other address.

\- What, - Oswald didn’t even had a time to feel anger. His first thought was that Victor decided to end their partnership and strike a separate deal, and he was ready to rant about hubris that never leads to prosperity, but Victor baffled him completely.

\- You mean ‘who is it’?” – Victor smiled salaciously, thinking about something Oswald didn’t want to hear, and then it dawned on him. – Alvarez, if you must know.

\- So you invited a cop into our apartment for a hookup, – Oswald resumed. He hoped it sounded incredulous and mocking enough. – Death wish or you just plan to finish him right after dessert?

Victor rolled his eyes.

\- Neither, - he said, annoyed. – No one in GCPD goes after Falcone, and Falcone likes us. But what’s a big deal? If you’re nervous about weapons in cupboards, well, he knows I have a big arsenal. Got something from it already.

\- So it’s even better. You trade sexual favors for weapons now. How many more visitors to expect? - Oswald would laugh if he wasn’t this enraged. Victor lost last remaining notions of discipline.

\- Just one night, and you make such a big problem of it already, - Victor wasn’t angry, just mildly annoyed. – By the way, he knows your Gordon. I can get his number for you, so you won’t feel so lonely and left out.

Oswald stopped breathing for a moment. It took a lot not to start shouting immediately.

\- Bad joke, - he said finally. – And I hope it’s gonna be the last joke on this topic you will allow yourself.

\- What a shame, I wasn’t joking, – Victor said slowly. Than reached into his inner pocket and handled Oswald a phone. – It’s here in the contacts. It’s all not that complicated, if you don’t make it so.

Oswald saw that for Victor the conversation was over, and fight with him over his chosen way of spending the evening was pointless. But the phone was better be discarded. Oswald snatched it from Victor’s hand and turned away so he wouldn’t see his knowing smile.

\- We’re not finished with this, – he said anyway, loudly, aggravated.

\- Don’t hurry back in the morning, – cheerfully answered Victor, heading back to the building.

Now the phone was in his pocket, and it felt heavy, it felt burning. Oswald hated everything – the fine night weather, the moderate noise of the streets, his own gait, the fact that there were not many people on the streets now and he couldn’t even re-direct his anger at them. He almost started a row with the door that didn’t open fast enough. He was ready to break the sofa hat was too cold and stiff. And all the pens in this flat wrote bleak and thin.

But he made himself calm down and wrote everything he found out today. He was good with knifes and guns, but secrets cut deeper, and he should have always polish his most effective weapon.

It was almost dawn when he finished. He cooled down enough to just sit back and breathe steadier, but that one little rattling thing didn’t leave him. The phone and it’s contents. Another secret to crack, something he especially tried to escape. He didn’t research Jim, unusual for him attempt to let someone be private. It was a strange feeling – he wanted Jim to open up to him freely, but now he was given a shortcut, and, being himself, he took it. It almost tasted bitter, like a victory you were handled by someone else.

The number was there, filed under simple ‘Jim’. Good thing that Victor didn’t try to mock him to no end.

He tried to come up with an excuse to write, toyed with an idea of fake emergency call for help but dismissed it as cheap and requiring more energy than he possessed. He spent a lot of time over the phone, looked at numbers, thinking about Jim, wondering where is he now. Who knows, maybe found himself someone to have fun with over weekend. Maybe Alvarez didn’t know the whole truth about his private life.

But he wrote in the end, when sun was already high up.

_“Good morning. So, did you try osteopathy? Oswald”_

It was like a code, and Oswald felt ridiculous, tense for a couple of minutes. Then the phone beeped and his heart jumped in his throat when he grabbed it from the table.

_“Good morning. Actually, I did. Thank you again. Shoulder almost fine. ”_

Oswald hasn’t gotten to the end of the text when others hurriedly arrived.

_“You’re up early. Jim”_

_“Previous one was from me too”_

_“Damn it. Jim”._

Oswald chuckled. He could easily imagined Jim not fully awake yet. The image was so soft and warm he almost ached to crawl into that bed somewhere in this very city and sprawl himself over Jim. Nothing would make him more content now.

 _“And you seem not quite awoken yet ”_ – he wrote, feeling fuzzy and mellow and absolutely smitten.

_“Night shift. Just got to the bed.”_

_“Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you”_ – he wrote and pressed ‘send’ almost on instinct. Wanted to add something about sweet dreams, but made himself stop. Jim would decide he’s drunk – and he would be not so far from the truth, strangely enough. It was a long time since Oswald felt this rush of endorphins. So silly. So sweet.

Phone beeped.

_‘’Call me tonight? If you want"_

Oswald answered without thinking and shuddered when he re-read his answer. ‘Transparent’ would be a little too kind.

“ _I do”_

Jim sent him a smile, and Oswald felt so embarrassed and giddy at the same time he put the phone on the table and refused to touch it again till he has a proper nap.

**

It started with a mistake. Oswald invited Jim to see restored version of _Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari_ , but the cashier at the cinema was distracted and they ended up with tickets to _Mark of Zorro_ instead. Oswald never really was interested in swordfights and zany gestures, but Jim was almost boyishly glad of this situation, and so they decided to watch this instead of going through exchange of tickets.

It’s not that the movie was bad; it’s more that it wasn’t what Oswald wanted to see, not what he wanted to show Jim. He prepared to admire twisted painted world that looked so grotesque and felt so tragic – but instead were watching south-western tale of comedy and adventure.

The main problem was, now Oswald was aware like never before that he’s sitting in the dark room full of sweet popcorn smell next to Jim Gordon. Since the happenings on screen were unable to hold his attention, he was occupied with the fact that Jim’s black shirt was with unbuttoned collar, and it felt so stupid and almost cruel, that he couldn’t just throw his arm around Jim’s shoulders and lean closer, right where his collar opened, to breathe his savory odor.

Jim would be at least weirded out, since they didn’t even hold hands properly, let alone kissed or something else. Or maybe he would take Oswald’s interest for something it wasn’t, something simple like silly dirty fun people were having in movie theaters, with their hands down each other’s pants.

Oswald’s attraction wasn’t purely physical, but it wasn’t naïve school crush either. It was something awful, strong enough to compel Oswald do on dates to public places instead of working on leads he had, and yet bashful enough that he couldn’t touch Jim now, when the was so immersed in the movie, and was left waiting till Jim’s attention will turn to him.

Oswald twitched when he felt Jim’s hand on his own.

\- Movie not to your liking?, – he asked quietly, warm.

Oswald didn’t want to sound like a spoiled child, so he sighed apologetically and feigned headache to justify his mood. Jim, of course, offered to go on clear air immediately, and Oswald took the excuse, promising himself that he will try to make it up to Jim, if there ever will be a second date.

\- Actually, I’ve seen this movie, but it was a long time ago, - Jim said when they entered golden-lit lobby. - It’s just so funny and optimistic.

Oswald sighed. He almost felt guilty for not sitting the whole movie to the end, winch was very illogical, since he sacrificed his desired evening plan already anyway. He held his cane more comfortable instead. Maybe they should just try and find decent place to drink a cup of tea – he wouldn’t risk drinking alcohol with Jim and do something that would make him uncomfortable.

\- Maybe we should go somewhere to chat, – Jim said, holding the door for him. They chuckled in unison. – Have something in mind or we gonna try our luck?

They walked out of the theater into cold dark evening. Oswald rarely was in this part of the city – winch was why he proposed this movie theater – so he was going to say “Yes to trying our luck” when they heard gruff voice from the alley they were passing.

\- What's up, folks? Now give me your money.

Jim tensed, turning his head towards the noise.

\- There’s a trouble, - he said, making a step in that direction.

Oswald hurried after him, more worried than anything else. Jim was unarmed, and so Oswald caught him by the sleeve and immediately started shouting in the alley, not even seeing what’s going on:

\- Hey there!

Jim shrugged Oswald’s grasp and ran into the alley. There was a group of four people before them – fancy dressed man and woman with a boy of ten or twelve, and a ragged man who was holding them on gunpoint.

Everything happened fast, it always did – man pushed woman aside, she hugged boy tight, pulling him down too. Mugger cursed and shoot – at the very moment the man grabbed his hand.

Man fell down. Jim passed him and with one punch threw the mugger on the ground. Oswald caught the man crouching, covering the wound in his gut. Woman cried, the boy too, he was almost howling with horror.

Oswald flipped his phone and called an ambulance, from the corner of his eyes watching Jim tying man’s hands with man’s own belt. At the same time talking to police station through the phone pressed to his shoulder.

Woman suddenly pushed past Oswald, pressing her hand chief to her husband’s abdomen. Her face glistered with tears, pretty hairdo was ruined. Big pearls of her necklace were almost glowing.

Boy watched all of them, shocked. He didn’t even cry anymore. Jim got down on his knees next to the boy and threw his jacket over his shoulders.

\- It’s gonna be alright, Bruce, – he said. – I called the police.

Oswald looked at the face of an attacker who laid on the ground, unconscious, and froze.

It was not some desperate street thief. It was Matches Malone, killer for hire.

They have gotten themselves in big trouble.

**

Then time slowed down considerably. Ambulance took Thomas Wayne in hospital, and his butler accompanied his wife and son there to wait for news. Oswald and Jim gave their statements to Harvey Bullock and his men, who took Matches in custody. They were exhausted by the time GCPD left.

Oswald felt something like a defeat. He caught an attention from people who organized this, Jim caught their attention – and he didn’t know how to start this conversation and not draw suspicion from Jim’s side. Especially considering he didn’t say to Bullock that he knows the attacker – he needed at least something up his sleeve when he will be asked by Falcone’s people.

He just wanted to go on a date, for god’s sake. Now he was ready to swore off romantic outings for life.

Jim put his hand on Oswald’s shoulder.

\- Sorry it turned out like that, - he said. – Bad date night.

\- But very exiting, – Oswald laughed a little. He couldn’t come up with anything subtle to start the necessary conversation, so he decided to be over with it the quickest way possible.

\- It was not a simple street mugging, - he said, while they were walking slowly in the vague direction of Oswald and Victor spare flat.

Jim furrowed brow. Even now, after horrendous evening and with all new worries he carried, Oswald couldn’t help it, he find it cute and didn’t even hold back sad little laughter.

\- Sorry, I’m very tired. But what I’m going to say to you – it’s important, Jim.

\- I live nearby, – Jim said. – Let’s talk there.

He really was living behind a few alleys, in an old building. The flat was old too, darkened, with very little furniture.

\- Sorry, – Jim said again. - I’m not exactly a type to throw parties or admire paintings.

Oswald was quite alright with that anyway – the place was clean, but it didn’t feel like a place where someone lived. Maybe he only slept there.

\- So what was all this about? – Jim asked, when they sat down on the sofa with tea – Oswald didn’t ask for it, but Jim preferably thought that coffee at this hour would do more harm than good.

Oswald made a big sip. Good tea, not very expensive, but yet. It will be sad to leave this flat with Jim looking at him not like now, not warmly, with genuine worry. It will be doubt at best.

\- The man who shot Thomas Wayne, – Oswald said, slowly, trying to thread carefully. – He’s not just a drunk from the street. He’s a hired… specialist. All kind of dirty work for people ready to pay.

Jim nodded, looking down his cup. Then said, not looking back at Oswald.

\- I saw it. Saw that you recognized him. But you didn’t tell the police. And you didn’t tell me right now. So either his employer is someone you’re afraid of, – and here he looked at Oswald, and his gaze was heavy. – Or you protect this big player.

Oswald shook his head. He truly hated this city now. The one pleasant thing he wanted for himself, one bond untainted – it was too much for Gotham to bear.

\- What would be the point for me to intervene, if I knew what would happen? - he asked. There was no point in trying to bring those people to justice, either, but he didn’t voice this thought. Jim truly believed the opposite. How he could live in Gotham with this level of old-fashioned naiveté?

\- That’s not what you hide from me.

\- Well, you have your secrets too. Don’t want to share, why you knew the victim’s son by first name? – Oswald answered. He wasn’t going to, but on the other hand, if it was their last conversation, why not demand an answer? To shatter his idealistic image in Oswald’s head, at the very least.

\- So, we both slipped, – Jim chuckled sadly. Then put his cup on the table and looked Oswald in the eye. He had truly beautiful eyes, such a deep shade of blue it could fascinate.

\- I work in Wayne Enterprise security, – he said. - It’s not legally a secret, just… we were recommended to keep our moths mostly shut. Because of the projects that’s being developed there. Complex experiments. New medicine, and all that.

\- And somebody doesn’t like that, – Oswald concluded. – It might be anyone of the corporation even. You have to be very careful, especially now, when they know you were there.

\- Life’s getting all the more exiting, – Jim said, and his quiet laughter was so melodic and sweet Oswald just didn’t stood a chance, he laughed too.

It was a good note to part, to think about it. But it was so very hard to pull away from Jim, physically hard, and Oswald decided to deceive himself, since he didn’t want to cooperate with his own common sense. He put a cup on the table, slipped his hand over Jim’s shoulder, and took a moment to marvel at the way Jim’s eyes widened a little, so pretty, surprised, and then closed, content, when their lips touched.

Gently, slowly, the most splendid kiss, and he aimed for something innocent, but Jim opened his mouth slightly, and it was longer and deeper and felt like a burning. Oswald by miracle made himself pull away and stand. Jim looked amazed, his lips were bright. He smiled then, understanding but hopeful.

\- See you, then?

Oswald held his breath and shook his head, but his mouth answered anyway:

\- I hope to see you soon.

**

\- Falcone wants you to keep Gordon in check. What’s so bad about it? He didn’t ask for his head or to get something out of him, - Victor mused, polishing his boots. – Besides, you seem to like him, so I really don’t get it. If you want the good for him, better do what’s been told or he’ll ask someone else.

Oswald hated this discussion, hated that Victor points were valid – and the file he started on Jim Gordon, that joined his archive. Now Jim was a target, potentially important enough to warrant a meeting, but Oswald couldn’t think about him like that. Didn’t like to dig his past, to look for details about his father’s friendship with Falcone, his army service, his current connections.

Would he be able to go through this, he wondered. To meet Jim in a cellophane padded cell where he would be tied to a chair, and Oswald would wield a knife. He couldn’t imagine this scenario, his mind screeched in halt. But if it wouldn’t be him, then it would be someone another, Falcone had a lot of ‘professionals’ at his disposal. Maybe sentimentality will play in Jim’s favor – but then, Oswald reminded himself, Don didn’t know Jim, only his father – a really long time ago. Memory could wither already.

Oswald looked past Victor, on the sofa where Alvarez left his jacket. He came here fairly frequently, but Victor was polite enough to always let Oswald know, so they didn’t come into direct contact.

\- What would you do, if Falcone told you to get rid of him?

\- He wouldn’t start trouble, unlike some people, – Victor replied easily.

\- Imagine he did. – Oswald turned to him from his ledger. – Imagine he saw something he was not supposed to, and you are ordered to solve the problem.

Victor put his boots on the floor and straightened, looking at Oswald. His eyes were serious, thoughtful. Oswald rarely seen him like that.

\- I would give him as much opportunities as possible to escape, - he said.

It was an option too. Oswald didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to come in contact with Jim again, because it would be dangerous, he would be stupid enough to reveal too much, it would be painful – but maybe to try and scare Jim off, make him leave would be the only way.

\- Good advice, friend, - Oswald said, preparing to leave.

Victor nodded, smiling, moving to sofa to start cleaning his guns.

**

Jim agreed to meet, through Oswald was ready to hear a rebuff and knew that he will come to his house anyway. When he heard Jim’s voice on the phone, he felt that strange bittersweet twist in his gut. He missed this soft timbre, and he will miss it even worse after.

Jim opened the door before he had time to knock.

\- Saw you on the street, - he said. Oswald would be forced to be quick, winch was damn better work out, because he was feeling this softening, this desire to say something stupid and corny like “I’m so glad to see you”. And they didn’t have time for this, not anymore – not ever.

\- Tea? Or whiskey? Sorry, it doesn’t seem I have something else.

\- No, thank you, – Oswald said automatically and sit on the sofa Jim pointed him to, while going for the tea himself. Second and last time they met here, and this room felt so cozy already, even through it was not well lit and still criminally under decorated.

Jim sat next to him, cleaning his throat.

\- So, is there a bad news I have to know, or you just wanted to see me?

It was half a joke, but Oswald laughed only because he was tense, almost torn.

\- Both. – He didn’t give Jim a time to laugh properly on this – or a time to catch his breath to himself. – You have to quit this job, Jim. You have to leave Gotham – at least temporally.

\- I beg your pardon? – Jim put his cup on table and turned to him with all his body. – I – are you seriously threatening me?

His voice were incredulous and almost amused – morbid amusement, but still.

\- No, but maybe soon somebody will. You caught their attention. And if someone ignores them, there’s a retaliation. They got to Thomas Wayne, rich, powerful, loved by many citizens. Think what they can do to security guard… – Oswald was talking fast, and with each blurted out word painfully understood how unconvincing and ridiculous it might sound to Jim, a crazy and vague conspiracy theory spewed by a neurotic.

Jim’s face wasn’t mocking or dumbfounded, though. He was worried.

\- Wait. Who ‘they’? How do you know? – he asked, determinate.

\- I don’t really know, I just know someone digs info on you, – and does all he can to take the longest time possible, he thought frantically.

\- Criminals?

\- Maybe… obviously! – he began to lose patience, if he ever had it tonight. – Don’t derail me, you heard the important part – you have to leave.

Jim huffed, then looked at Oswald with something darkened, challenging, sharp in his eyes. Damn if it wasn’t attractive too.

\- No, I don’t. And if that’s all you came to say, then you heard your answer and you free to leave.

Silly fierce self-assurance, but even that became him, at least while Oswald let himself admire his resolute expression. Then he remembered the last dirty job he performed, disgust and dizziness filled him. There was nothing he wouldn’t say now to prevent Jim from ending up there.

\- You know, the hitman is sent only if you’re not needed anymore. If you know something desired – or if someone need proof you don’t – you are taken, and then it can be hours, days, sometimes weeks, but the moment desired data is obtained, you’re trash and you’re disposed of.

He closed his eyes. He trembled by the end of the last sentence. He was sure Jim got now exactly who he let in, and just didn’t want to see this just yet – his disgusted, frozen face.

\- So, it was a threat, - he heard Jim saying. It suddenly all strength left him, and he couldn’t move, numb, stricken. He opened his eyes, watched the table, gathering the will to stand up.

\- Oswald, do you need water? – he declined with one gesture. He spoke again, unable, unwilling to let the issue go until Jim threw him out.

\- You’ve left the army already. Just try your luck someplace other that this city.

\- You think I left the service because I was captured and tortured? – he heard Jim asking him, and his voice was strangely calm. Thoughtful.

\- I don’t know this, no, – it would be so much easier if he was. So much easier to push him to leave, to save himself. Oswald felt sick.

\- It was the other way around. I know what it is, Oswald. Unofficial… interrogation. I saw it done. Saw people being disposed of like trash, - Oswald felt Jim’s hand on his shoulder and shuddered. – And here, in this city, I found a work that gives me something else. People that want to do good and can do it. Gotham needs them.

\- Corporate saviors, – Oswald laughed despite everything. – You’ll find another.

\- If you really researched me, how don’t you consider that I was born here? – Jim asked stubbornly. – I want to see this city do really better.

Oswald were going to say something else, ready to be bitter and confronting, knowing already that Jim won’t listen. If he’s gonna talk this way with Falcone, Oswald may have do something drastic to get him out there alive. And risk fight with Victor.

\- I appreciate your warning, – Jim said and stood up, putting half empty glass of water on the table. – But there’s nothing you could say now. You’re tired. Go home and have some good sleep. – Oswald looked at him, not believing what he heard – Jim wasn’t even aflame with righteous anger that criminal assistant (or whoever he thought Oswald was) were sitting on his sofa. He was saddened. – Through I don’t know why you bothered. I did nothing to earn such trust, and you don’t really know me.

\- I want to, – Oswald answered automatically. Usually he measured every word, but it didn’t seem to matter now. He already was too honest. – And I don’t want you to get in trouble.

He looked Jim in the eye, rising to stand before him. He was clothed so simple, simplest than Oswald ever saw him. Plain black t-shirt, old jeans. And he wouldn’t be more handsome if he was wearing the sharpest suit imaginable. Dark-golden strand laid on his forehead. His lashes seemed so long it was almost as if Oswald could see the shadow they casted. He seemed so warm, so soft, so determinate to stay and meet all the troubles this city could heap. And Oswald knew how his lips kissed, and it would be so easy to lean forward just to try his luck; but paid tormentor asking for a goodbye treat would be too tacky.

Jim raised his hand to Oswald’s face, as if catching his wish, his eyes looked for something in Oswald’ s face, slow, attentive exploration. Oswald closed his eyes, nervous, but elated. Blush felt like tingling.

\- If I refuse to leave, would you have my back here? – Jim asked quietly. Oswald should have said no, but really, he didn’t want to. Just to have this one evening, this one touch, this one man for himself – wasn’t it worth it? He nodded, feeling his tongue was too dry. Then nodded again, rising hand to cover Jim’s hand on his right cheek and lean closer.

He kissed Jim’s palm, his chin, his lower lip. Jim’s mouth was hot and tender, kisses grew deeper and heat traveled down, neck, chest, gut. He felt like he was dizzy with thirst, he couldn’t inhale enough.

\- What do you want me to do? – he whispered, dazed, sliding his lips up to Jim’s ear, brushing skin just a little lower. Jim’s breath stuttered, his hands around Oswald’s waist brought him closer.

\- I want… – he answered, in matching hushed tone, deliberately slow and punctuating each word with kisses to Oswald’s neck, his temple, his ear. – You… in my bedroom… undressed.

\- Only if you let me undress you first, - Oswald answered. He needed something to cloak his mind enough so he could forget how pale and scrawny and mangled he was, and Jim naked or at least close to it surely would do the trick.

\- Tough negotiator, - Jim huffed, kissing him again and pulling them both back, and Oswald followed him easily, like in a dance, in a trance, in a dream.

Jim obediently laid on the bed, fully clothed, and Oswald slid beside him. Jeans first, simply because he would be needing Jim’s t-shirt for one trick, and maybe because Jim was hard, glorious, long line beneath blue fabric, and Oswald wanted to get his hands there immediately. But he glanced at Jim anyway, with his hand hovering over hem of Jim’s jeans, and only when Jim nodded, Oswald unzipped and yanked them down.

He dipped lower, to press his face between Jim’s thigh and his covered still cock, to breathe him in through thin black cotton. Musky, earthy scent, carnal thrill. Jim’s breath became shorter above him, his hips raised slightly to meet Oswald’s touch. Oswald felt strangely, foolishly proud, and he proceed as he wanted, slowly up Jim’s torso, rolling his t-shirt up and kissing the naked skin of his abdomen, heavy going chest, right up to his throat. Jim impatiently threw his hand above the head, waiting for Oswald to get him off the piece of clothing, but Oswald stopped, covering Jim’s eyes with it and catching his hands above his head.

\- Would you wait a minute for me like this?

Jim groaned, dissatisfied with the delay, and Oswald was ready to free him from t-shirt and go through awkwardness of his own undressing under scrutiny, when Jim nodded.

\- Yes, mysterious stranger.

Oswald laughed, almost lightweight suddenly more than anything from Jim’s complying, and kissed his lips, tender, long, before getting up and hastily removing his own clothes. He never before felt annoyed by being overdressed, but hell if he ever will put on shirt, waistcoat and jacket if he’s going to meet Jim.

Oswald managed to get his clothes and Jim’s jeans alright on ne nearby chair, and came back to Jim, who was waiting for him, still third-dressed, and he leaned back so freely and alluring, it was something straight out of artful erotic photographs album. Pressing closer to kiss him, Oswald greased his hip with his cock and bit his lip from sudden contact. He didn’t remember the last time he was this aroused.

Jim turned to meet him slightly, smiling in the kiss, pressing closer. Oswald gasped, unable and unwilling to stop a little rut.

\- If you let me, I’ll get my pants off for you, - Jim whispered, and Oswald pulled his t-shirt up and threw it in general direction of chair with other clothes.

Jim got rid of his pants in one swift motion and sprawled before Oswald again, he reached out and held Oswald’s face in his hands, smiling quietly and a little playful.

\- You’re so charming, - he said, and stopped very attempt of doubting his words with a kiss. He really had a way of kisses that were perfectly distractive.

They were pressed so close it felt like they could feel each other’s heartbeat. Oswald felt Jim’s body, all of it, hands holding him and caressing his back, chest under his chest, their cocks touching between their groins, legs intertwined. If Jim reached down and started to stroke him, he would come just from this – slight rocking, slow deep kisses, sure embrace. With Jim he didn’t feel weak, as he would expect. He felt delighted, almost happy, and it was so very foreign, this sense of security and trust in the hands of a man he didn’t know that well. A man who shouldn’t want to know him better.

Jim sensed shift in his mood, cause he leaned his head a little back and whispered, carding fingers through Oswald’s hair:

\- Do you want me to do this?

With this he spread his legs, so Oswald was between them, and rocked his hips a little. Oswald held his breath for a moment, closing his eyes. He didn’t expect this offer even after all proceedings.

\- Do we have everything needed? - he asked, and half of him wanted to hurry grab the supplies after Jim would point the direction, and the other half didn’t want to let Jim go, show his gait again, seem too eager or too rough in this position. People he used to do it with were not the ones for gentle lovemaking, and he wanted to be nothing but gentle with Jim.

Jim hummed in agreement, kissing him again, and then shimmed under him to get closer to drawler. Oswald let him go as far as he needed, but continued to caress his hips, his sides, his back, trying to imagine what it would be like with Jim, what he would prefer, and holding him a little stronger, possessive, thinking of others Jim done it with and wishing there would be no one else but him from now on. Before he could be bothered by how quickly he became so greedy of Jim’s time and intentions, Jim turned to him with condom and tube of lubricant.

Oswald snatched it from his hands, pushing up near the pillows and tried to pull him closer at the same time, and Jim huffed, hugging him, his skin almost hot, his touch so addictive. Oswald felt taut and melting at once, and he groaned in confusion, in desire to set an edge off a little, but he never wanted to let Jim go from him, never wanted to leave his embrace. He made himself slow down, hold Jim softer, and let him maneuver them so Jim was on top of him.

He opened his eyes, looking at Jim straddling his hips, slightly touching his cock with the cleft of his ass, and he panted openly. Jim smiled to him from atop, sunlit smile, beautiful on his beautiful face, and Oswald reached for him, silently asking to be grounded, and Jim took his hands, intertwined their fingers.

\- I want to do it myself. How you feel about it? - Jim asked, grinding down a little. Oswald let go of one of his hand and caught his by hip, stopping the motion that made him move too.

\- Yes, right, yes, - he said, settling to hold Jim’s hips, watching Jim reaching for lube, squeezing it on his hand, holding between palms to warm. And reaching behind himself.

He wasnt making a show of it, not quite, but it still was something to see, how complete he was lost to sensations, with closed eyes, lips bitten, hissing and gasping. Oswald felt his hips rising a little, and caught himself whispering something incoherent, something like “yeah like this don’t rush it you look so good now”. He blushed, closing his eyes and trying to relax, to make himself more in control. Jim’s hips vibrated under his fingers, his breaths were closer to moans. Maybe he liked this words, without order, only with feeling. Too much of feeling.

Then suddenly Jim’s slick fingers were on his cock, and he moaned from it, hard, leaning into touch.

\- Wait – Jim, wait, - he almost forgot half a sentence what Jim should remember, but Jim laughed, and patted him on the chest, reaching over his head for condom.

\- Next time it will be my turn to do it, - Oswald said greedily, kneading Jim’s sides, his arse, his thighs and not caring how raw, primal it sounded even for his ears. - Agreed?

\- Agreed, - Jim said, sliding under his hands more and in that moment managing to put a condom on him.

They both held their breaths when Jim’s body took him in. Oswald stated panting immediately after, feeling incredible, damn well perfect. Wrapped in tight heat, looking at Jim, rocking and moaning on his cock.

Oswald tried to caress his rigid muscles, whisper something soothing. But Jim kept on shifting slightly, swinging, rotating his hips, rising and pushing down, and Oswald was too far gone to be in control, so he just pulled Jim closer, rising his knees too almost on instinct, and when he obliged, and that pull were so long, so slow, so good Oswald moaned in full voice.

\- Easy, - he managed, cradling Jim’s head, kissing his temple, his cheek, his nose.

\- No, it’s okay, it’s not painful, - Jim whispered back into his lips, rocking his hips in demonstration. But he obeyed again.

He gone slow, wanton, savoring every move, every moan, pulling away and diving for a kiss or caress. Oswald grinded his teeth, feeling tantalized, drunk with this sensations, feeling completely at Jim’s disposition, ready to do whatever he said.

\- Deeper, - Jim said, kissing the corner of his mouth, and Oswald grabbed his hips hard and thrusted up in earnest. Jim threw his head back, riding him, taking him fully, with his hand moving on his cock in rhythm, his breath ragged and fast.

Oswald couldn’t keep up too long like this, he’s almost feverish, hearing his own whines like it was someone else who made this desperate sounds. Jim’s body clenched him, and it was so exquisite, it was it, and he let the low pull fill him whole, sharp, blinding, strong. He heard Jim’s moan, long, deep, he felt him clench again, then hot droplets on his stomach, and he let Jim ride it out, even though he was out of breath and felt boneless.

Jim fell near him on the bed, catching his breath too. Oswald felt tenderness so poignant he had nothing to stop it with. Maybe that’s what falling in love really felt, but damn it if it wasn’t pleasant at least now. He caressed Jim’s hip, looking down, concerned.

\- I’m sorry, - he said. He didn’t mean to leave bruises, but failed at ‘gentle’ anyway.

\- It’s not painful, - Jim answered, brushing the hair from Oswald’s face. His eyes were very soft, so soft Oswald wanted to cry suddenly. He felt so open, and Jim next to him was open too, they could see everything in each other, and it should have scared him, but it made him only more content.

Oswald made himself stand up and get the condom to the trash, than got to the bathroom to get Jim wet cloth. It wasn’t easy – to move with his leg, especially after intense activities, but he wanted to do something for Jim, even if it will be something this insignificant. Jim seemed to get it and didn’t stop him, only pointed to the direction of the bathroom. By the time Oswald got himself in order and brought the cloth, Jim got to his feet too and adjusted bed a little.

He came closer to Oswald, who stood in the doorway, suddenly sheepish, and took the cloth with softly murmured ‘thank you’. Oswald turned away to give him time to take care of himself, and went to find his underwear. It dawned on him, suddenly, mercilessly, that he may not be expected to stay the night. All victorious claims his mind made in the heat of the moment waned, and Oswald considered, ashamed, that Jim may have done it just to ensure Oswald’s collaboration. There was no way their relationship could be simple, not after all the revelations. And this aftertaste of business transaction made his heart heavy and hands stiff. Well, at least he got some very good time out of it, he told himself, reaching for his shirt, and felt hollow and cold.

\- Are you going to sleep like that? - he heard Jim asking him, entertained. Oswald turned around to find him sitting on the bed already, in white undershirt and black briefs, with another t-shirt in his hands, smiling at him. He looked sincere, and it was silly, downright silly that Oswald was so easy, but he believed this genuine smile even before he knew it. And yet he clung to his doubts still, tried to hide behind them:

\- Do you want me to stay the night?

Maybe it sounded more cautious than he aimed for, because Jim’s face grew concerned.

\- You have to go now? - he asked, looking in the window behind Oswald’s shoulder, than on his nightstand where his watches were. - It’s almost midnight.

\- That’s not what I – no, I don’t have to go, - Oswald fidget with his shirt buttons, trying to push himself to take it off again, now when he made this awkward pause. Jim understood it differently.

\- Alright, maybe I could persuade you to stay then? It’s not that I am a top chief cook, but I manage good omelet, or so I was told. I can try something else, if you’d like? We can get up early, if you have something to do in the morning… – Jim was flustered, aware of how obvious his need to talk Oswald into saying was. Oswald threw his shirt away before he could finish his proposition, and crawled in bed with him, grabbing the t-shirt, purple with an iceberg silhouette on the chest.

\- Make what you want for breakfast. We can lounge till noon if you have nothing planned. I wanted to stay, I just – I was inexcusably overthinking it.

Jim pulled him closer, relieved. They lay together, with Oswald’s temple pressed to Jim’s chest. Warm, and soft, and safe, and Oswald held him closer, smiling when he felt answering embrace.

If that was what being in love was, then it was beautiful. Whatever Gotham would tax them with in retaliation for next day – maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe all time in the world – it would be worth it.


End file.
